


Blue Moon

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Drama, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An almost down and out PI meets and author with a horrible past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Moon

## Blue Moon

#### by OCONN

  
not mine, you know the drill. these days I'm making money through hard work.  
Kudos to Myna for the plot suggestion that was never used in another idea, and for her permission.   
Thanks Myrna. I hope its what you had in mind.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Thanks go to Myrna for permission to use the story idea, plot, title, and for a story line that was suggested elsewhere but never used. Thanks Myrna, I hope it's what you had in mind. 

Blue Moon  
By OCONN 

Lightning flashed. The cold wind blew down the dark alley; its currents speeding through the night, whipping discarded trash and fallen leaves into the air like a tornado. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the back-street dead end alley and the horror taking place behind the last dumpster on the right. 

Blair flinched as another flash of lightning exploded above his hiding place in the locked doorway. Its nearness raised every hair on his body and the subsequent roar of thunder rattled battered trashcan lids and decaying fire escapes. He strained to hear any sounds as the echoes died, but it was impossible to hear over his heart pounding in his ears and his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as the young man struggled with his panic. 

"Calm down," he told himself. "Take a deep breath and just calm the fuck down or they'll hear you." 

"Too late for that, Fagboy." 

Blair screamed as he was struck in the face by a baseball bat. He felt his jaw shatter. Two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders as he began to crumple. He was thrown to the dirty, stinking pavement. Crying out as his face contacted the rough brick, scraping his cheek and temple and leaving bloody furrows, Blair twisted into a ball and tried to protect his body. A succession of brutal kicks to his back made him arch and writhe in agony. He tried to speak, to use his most powerful weapon, his words, to ward off his attackers, but the baseball bat was swinging again and the crack of the bones in his arm thwarted all efforts to do anything but scream again. 

"Hold him up!" 

Blair was roughly grabbed and pulled into a standing position. He cried out as the sudden force of movement and the callous grasps yanked his battered body and slammed it against the brick wall. His head was thrown back into the unforgiving surface as a hard fist repeatedly slammed into his face. Before he could take a breath, he was lifted off the ground by the force of a punch to his stomach. Then he was being held upright again. Blair was dizzy and struggling to breathe, his vision beginning to gray out, when another man emerged from the shadows. Confusion and pain washed over him as he recognized the newcomer and the gleaming blade he held. 

"Why are you doing this?" 

"This is your fault. You did this to that wonderful boy and now you have to pay. I won't let you do this to anyone else." 

Blair screamed again as the large hunting knife slashed across his chest, flaying open his flesh down to the bone. He was released from the hold on his arms, collapsing to the ground one last time as heavy raindrops began to fall. Highly polished boots appeared before his swollen eyes. 

"Stay away from us. Don't ever come back or I will kill you." 

Blair was kicked one final time. He felt several ribs break and the attackers melted into the shadows. His attempt to drag himself to an upright position failed, and he slipped into unconsciousness. The storm ended and the clouds cleared, revealing the broken body of a young man, barely alive and bleeding on the cold, wet pavement. 

* * *

Blair woke from his nightmare, his lungs gasping for breath. His face was contorted with remembered pain as his hands clutched at his chest, his body covered in cold sweat. Darkness closed in on him and he felt a burning need to get out. Blair fought his way clear of the tangled sheets, struggled into a pair of shorts, and ran out of his apartment. He didn't stop running, fleeing the terror he was sure was chasing him down all four flights of stairs, until he was standing in the garden in the apartment's center court. Gulping in air, he stood rigidly, fists and teeth clenched, until he brought his pounding heart and panicking system under control. From the corner shed, he grabbed the bucket containing the tools he used to tend the plants. He dropped to the soil, mind now closed to every thought except the task at hand. 

Hours later, as the sky began to lighten; Blair stood and silently began to put away the tools. Feeling somewhat at peace, he returned the bucket to its place in the shed, then quietly slipped back into the building, wearily making his way back to his apartment. He closed the door, methodically engaging both dead bolts and the chain. The locks reminded him again of his despair, effectively stripping away what little peace he'd managed to find in the garden. Blair leaned against the door, scrubbed his hands over his face, and sighed heavily. He choked on a sob. 

"Two years. Two fucking years! Is this ever going to end?" he cried angrily, slamming his hands against the door several times and kicking back with his heels as the hopelessness washed through him again. After a few more blows to the door, Blair pushed himself toward the bathroom. 

* * *

Simon looked up as the door to his office opened and his partner walked in. Oh crap, he thought silently. To the trained eye Jim Ellison looked less like a man ready to tackle the day's challenges and more like he'd had one too many last night then forgot where he lived. Hopefully his prospective client wouldn't know the difference. 

Simon flashed a smile at the elderly gentleman who sat in the deep, red leather chair and silently prayed that his partner was coherent. This man was offering them a great deal of money for a very simple task and frankly, he didn't need Jim blowing this. In fact, Jim didn't need Jim blowing this. 

"Jim," he said congenially. "Great, you're just in time." 

Ellison frowned for a moment, and then noticed the other occupant of the room. The man seated before Simon's desk was older, perhaps in his late sixties, he had thick white hair and a handsome face that seemed terribly worried and sad. Jim sighed mentally, before pulling himself together and putting on his best schmoozing face, all the while congratulating himself for having won the battle with his hangover and gone home to shower and change before coming in this morning. Still, this wasn't what he needed today. 

"Morning, Simon," he replied pleasantly. He turned to their guest and extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Jim Ellison, Simon's partner." 

The gentleman rose and shook his hand firmly and introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ellison. I'm Eric Braedon." 

"My pleasure, Mr. Braedon. Please, sit down. How can we help you?" 

As Mr. Braedon repeated his request to Jim, Simon watched his partner. Jim was smiling on the outside, but behind the faade was a man on the road to destruction. He had no love in his life, nothing to care for, and very little desire to change any of that. He hid behind a curtain of laughter, free-wheeling fun, and no responsibility. And Simon was beginning to worry. Maybe this case would help change some of that. After all, it didn't involve parties, beautiful women, or alcohol. Having made his decision to take the case and give it to Jim, Simon turned his attention back to Mr. Braedon, who was just beginning his tale of the reason behind his need for their services. 

"No offense, sir," Ellison was saying. "But if your grandson wants to keep to himself, shouldn't you respect his privacy?" 

"Mr. Ellison, my grandson is my pride and joy. He's intelligent, but he's headstrong. He won't let me help him." 

"Why does he need your help?" 

"Fifteen years ago, my son and his family came to live in my home. Blair is their oldest. He was fourteen then. Six years later, he was out of college and looking for a company to publish his first novel. Blair was a brilliant writer, and I used my connections to boost his chances. As expected, the book was a big success. His second book outsold his first. He was well on his way to being rich and famous." 

"We were all caught up in his success, too much I'm afraid. I loved my grandson very much and wanted my family to be together, but things began to change when Blair returned to our home. In an effort to ease tensions, Blair moved out. He kept in close contact with his brothers. He adored them, you know." 

Ellison and Banks only nodded, encouraging the old man to continue. 

"Everyone seemed happier after Blair moved and life went on. Until two years ago. My second grandson ran away. He was killed one month later. Blair was devastated. Three weeks later, he was attacked. He almost died in a deserted alley, before a couple of teenagers found him and called 911. Blair had been brutally beaten. Two ribs, his left arm, and his jaw were broken. He had a severe concussion and one very deep laceration." 

"Jesus," whispered Simon. 

"My grandson spent a few weeks in the hospital then returned to his apartment. He refused to come home with us while he recuperated and began to close himself off from everyone. He wouldn't even see me." 

"What about the trial?" Jim asked. "How did he handle that?" 

"His attackers were never caught. Blair couldn't identify them clearly." 

Ellison thought for a minute, then politely asked, "I'm sorry, Mr. Braedon, but what exactly is it that you want me to do?" 

"Mr. Ellison, what I want from you is simple. I want you to keep an eye on him. Don't approach him or make contact in any way. Simply watch him and send me a weekly report." 

"Why?" Jim asked, clearly puzzled by the old man's request. 

"Because, Mr. Ellison, the circumstances are changing. I feel something is going to happen soon, and I want to be able to step in for him when the time is right." 

"Mr. Braedon," Simon interrupted. "If you have any information, you should go to the police." 

"The police have no right to interfere with my family. They lost that right when they treated my grandson like a criminal instead of a victim. Everything you need to know is in this file," he stated as he handed over an expensive looking brown leather binder. Good day gentleman," Mr. Braedon said, effectively drawing the meeting to a close. He rose, shook hands with Simon and Jim and said, "I'll be in touch." With that, he was gone. 

* * *

"Okay," Jim spoke into his small tape recorder. "The time is one in the morning. Damn, doesn't this guy ever sleep? He's in the garden again." 

Jim sighed heavily as he realized that this was almost a nightly happening. In the two weeks he'd been on babysitting duty, as he called this boring assignment, the young man had missed his middle of the night gardening only twice. If this continued through the end of the week, he'd put this down to routine and not bother with watching him all night. He didn't care how much the old man was paying; he needed some late night fun and a hot body to enjoy. 

Looking through the notes he'd made over the last fourteen days, Jim reviewed the pattern for Mr. Sandburg. 

"Predictable. You can time this guy down to the minute," he mumbled to himself. 

Monday April 1: Spends day cleaning and typing on his computer. 

Tuesday April 2:   
* 10:00 am: Grocery store. One hour shopping. Returns home, same route. * 11:00 am: Unloads car. Quickly goes through lobby. * 11:05 am: Appears in window of first floor apartment. Has a cup of coffee then leaves. * 11:20 am: Back in his apartment. Locks his door systematically. * 1:00 pm: Lunch.  
* 4:00 pm: Check the mail, returns immediately. * 12:00 am: Gardening?! 

Wednesday April 3:   
* 9:00 am: Breakfast. Then typing on computer. * 1:00 pm: Lunch then typing.  
* 4:00 pm: Mail.  
* 7:30 pm: Dinner time, cleanup, lights out. * 12:03 am: Gardening? 

Thursday April 4:  
* 9:00am: Breakfast. Then typing.  
* 1:00 pm: Lunch followed by trip to third floor. * 1:30 pm: Appears in window of last apartment on right. Sits at table with young woman who appears to be in her early twenties. Spend one hour studying. Break for snack and a little romping with lady's toddler. Back to books for thirty minutes. * 4:00 pm: Checks mail and returns to apartment. Bolts the door, returns to typing. * 7:30 pm: Dinner, dishes, disappear.  
* 11:45 pm: back in garden. 

Friday April 5: same as Monday and Wednesday 

Saturday April 6: This is different!  
* 8:15 am: went for a drive. Ended up half a block away from grandfather's estate. Didn't get out of car. Stayed for thirty minutes, turned the car around and bolted like a bat out of hell. * 10:30 am: Back home. No sign of client until midnight. 

Sunday April 7: No sign of him at all. 

  * Note: find out what happens on Sundays. 



* * *

Jim looked at his watch and blew out an annoyed breath. It was 7:45 on a Saturday night. Blair had already gone to bed and probably wouldn't move tonight. A storm was brewing, promising to put on quite a light show, and Jim couldn't see the guy gardening in this weather. 

Jim looked down at his notes from today. There wasn't much out of the ordinary, not for this strange man, except for that one moment outside his grandfather's house. For a split second Jim had thought Blair was actually going to get out of his car, and he'd held his breath. But Blair had aborted his movement and let his hand drop from the door handle to the steering wheel. Jim's sight had zoomed in on the strong, broad hands as they fiercely gripped the hard plastic. 

At the time, Jim had given little thought to the way his senses sharpened when focused on the other man and even less thought to the idea that they'd worked so effortlessly. But he flatly refused to think about how his heart had lurched when Blair had let out what sounded like a sob and banged a hand on the steering wheel, or how he'd swiped at his face with his sleeve before viciously throwing the car into gear and screeching away. Or how his observations had changed lately to include entries like: Blair smiled at his elderly neighbor. It's a nice smile, but a sad one and it doesn't reach his eyes. 

Jim shook himself out of the memory of this afternoon and let out a loud "Damn it! I've had enough," he grumbled as he reached for his cell phone and dialed his latest babe's number. Five minutes later he was on his way to Jesse's Bar. 

* * *

Blair sat huddled on his bed, listening to the wind pick up outside his window. He told himself that everything was all right. He was warm and dry; he was in his home with all the doors and windows locked. He was alone and secure. But, oh how he wished he had someone to hold him, to make him feel sheltered within strong arms. These were times when he wished he could go back to his old life, that everything could be the way it was before... before he'd become someone to hate. 

Lightning flashed, illuminating the street below. A chill raced over him as he remembered the old truck sitting at the end of the block. Its presence scared him: Blair knew it was here for him, he'd seen it following him around the past few days. If he wasn't so terrified of everyone and everything, he'd call the police. But they wouldn't help; he already had proof of that. Minutes later, another flash highlighted the empty street. He tried to calm down, to tell himself that the danger was gone, but he couldn't convince himself. 

* * *

Jim sat in the smoky bar, back in a dark corner with his arm wrapped tightly around Mitzi's shoulders. She was droning on and on about something; he wasn't listening. He never did. He continued to nuzzle her neck and inch his hand underneath her tight skirt, his only thoughts centered on getting her out of there so they could get the party started. 

"You're not listening to me, are you?" she laughed as she tried to squirm away from his roaming hand. 

"Sure I am. Aren't I always?" he replied, stepping up his efforts. "Come on, Miz. Let's move this somewhere more comfortable." 

"Don't call me that. You know I hate it. And we just got here! I'm tired of these 'teaser' nights out. I want to stay awhile, maybe dance." Jim winced at her irritating voice. 

Mitzy turned a pouting face toward him, and he had a sudden flash of another mouth, another set of lips, full ones. Blair, sitting across from the young mother he was tutoring, his bottom lip stuck out in a teasing pout when she had gotten frustrated and refused to try again. That mouth was just ripe for picking. Jim shuddered, his jeans suddenly tighter. In his mind, he was shocked at his reaction to the memory of Blair's mouth, but he covered nicely. Jim leaned over and covered Mitzi's mouth with his, the kiss hot and nasty, before he moved to suck on her lower lip. He wondered if kissing Blair would be any different, if he would get lost in his kisses. He abruptly pushed away from his date, mumbling something about having to go to the john, and stumbled away from the table. 

"Jiiimmm!" Mitzi whined. 

* * *

Blair pushed himself up from his huddled position on the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He searched desperately through the cabinets, looking for the little bottle he'd hidden last week when he'd sworn never to reach for it again. His fingers successfully captured the medicine and frantically tore the cap off. He shook two of the small pills into his trembling palm and replaced the cap. The bottle dropped unnoticed into the sink as Blair stared at the drugs in his hand. He knew they'd calm him, knew they'd allow him to ignore his failure today and the storm and sleep undisturbed. He also knew he hated how they made him sleep the next day away. But tonight, as his arm ached and his scar burned, as the light pierced his eyes and the wind howled in his ears, he was willing to live with the lost time. 

He filled a glass with water and popped the pills into his mouth. The glass was half way to his lips when he remembered the truck. He needed a clear head now, more than a dreamless sleep. Blair spit the tiny tablets into the toilet and flushed. Then he put the bottle back into its hiding place. He headed into the kitchen to make some tea, and wished that he could feel safe, just for one night. 

* * *

Jim stumbled down the dark, smelly hall, past couples making out and two beat up cigarette machines. He crashed into the men's room, praying it would be empty. There was only one man inside and he glanced up, startled at the noise. Jim barely noticed the guy's petrified look as he stumbled into the open stall. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the cold metal. His mind registered the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing before his hearing told him he was alone. Without much thought, Jim's hand moved down to the bulge in his jeans. He rubbed lightly for several seconds, picturing Blair's beautiful blue eyes, imagining them shining with happiness instead of sorrow, shining just for him, because of him. Jim was filled with a sudden sense of shame and he jerked his hand away from his groin. Banging his head against the door, he wondered what the hell was happening. 

Realizing that he was dangerously close to having to give Mitzi a logical explanation for his strange behavior, Jim unlocked the stall door and went to wash his face. Maybe the cold water would help clear his head. That accomplished, he took a deep breath and headed back to the table before his date actually came up with an intelligent question in that blonde brain of hers. Yeah, he knew it was highly unlikely, but you never could be sure. 

Mitzi smiled up at Jim as he slid into the booth. She picked up right where she left off and continued rambling. Jim buried his face in her neck, under the blonde hair, and began nibbling, trying to get his mind off Blair. He decided after a few minutes that he definitely preferred dark, soft curls to smooth blonde locks. With that thought blasting through his mind, he drew away from the heavily perfumed skin and quickly reached for his drink. He swallowed the whiskey in one swallow and slammed the glass down on the table top. The sudden outburst finally managed to stop Mitzi's meandering words and she looked at Jim like he was crazy. 

"What is wrong with you tonight?" 

Her high pitched, nasally voice grated on his already stretched nerves. Right now he just wanted to get the hell out of there and-and-ah, hell. What was he thinking? He didn't need to get mixed up with some somber, traumatized recluse. Even if he was absolutely gorgeous. A picture of the young man he was supposed to be watching floated through his mind. He saw the long, curly hair that reached just beyond the collar of a soft looking black shirt. His mind's eye moved down to where the shirt disappeared into the black jeans, down to where the tight denim stretched across a perfectly formed ass and continued on to encase strong legs. The picture ended where the jeans gathered around the tops of the black Dr. Martens. 

"Jim!" 

He shook his head to clear the images and looked at the woman staring intently at him. He decided to do something about his weirdly dangerous thoughts, namely stop them cold, and stood up, tugging on Mitzi's hand. 

"Let's go, I'm ready for some fun." 

"I'm not going anywhere. You said we could dance. Come on, Jimmy. Let's dance." 

"I don't dance." 

"Don't I know it," she grumbled. "You know, you've become a single-minded jerk. A girl needs more than sex all the time." Mitzi stuck out her bottom lip in a classic pout, but Jim was no longer affected. 

"Come on, Jimmy. Just a couple of hours. Then we'll go back to your place, and I'll give you what you really need." She batted her long, mascara-ed eyelashes at him. 

For a brief instant, Blair's image superimposed itself over Mitzi's and he suddenly, realized what it was that he really needed. He only hoped he wasn't losing his mind. 

"Thanks, but no thanks. I have to go." He turned and strode away, with a "see ya 'round" carelessly tossed over his shoulder. 

"Not in this lifetime, you prick," he heard just before stepping out into the night. 

* * *

Jim had to keep a firm grip on the steering wheel as he fought the wind and rain. He cursed himself all the way across town when he remembered the circumstances surrounding Blair's assault. It had been a night just like this one, dark and stormy. Blair must be terrified. He drove faster, not really thinking about what would happen when he arrived. 

Pulling up in front of Blair's building, he immediately saw lights on in the kitchen window. His eyesight focused on the pacing man. Through the driving rain, he watched the tiny flinches in the frightened man every time the lightning flashed, and Jim's walls began to crumble. He didn't understand it, but suddenly, his only driving need was to protect this man. 

"Think, Ellison," he ordered himself. "You have to do something! Can't go busting in there, Blair will have a heart attack. Think, damn it!" 

* * *

Blair wrapped his trembling hands around his cup and tried to remember how to breathe normally. It was early, nowhere near his usual midnight gardening hour, but he had to get out. Meditation wasn't working, the storm outside and his memories saw to that. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, but he was too terrified of the storm to leave his apartment. The suddenness of the raging violence was so much like that horrible night two years ago. In some ways, it seemed like a lifetime ago, a lifetime of fear, pain, and loneliness. And in others it seemed like yesterday. Intellectually he knew he was physically healed, all but one of the scars had long since faded, but his pain was as vivid as the day he'd walked out of the hospital and into this prison. 

Blair reached out to close the curtains and saw the truck was back. His stomach rolled suddenly and the cup barely made it to the counter before the shaking began. He collapsed and landed in a crumpled heap. 

* * *

Jim's mind whirled with possibilities as he tried to decide what to do. He watched Blair barely rocking against counter. He knew Blair couldn't see in the darkened cab of the truck, but his panic at finding the truck again was clear. Jim let out a roar as Blair went down. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed. 

"'Lo?" growled the voice on the other end of the line. 

"I need a favor!" Jim blurted out frantically. 

"Ellison? Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, Slider. Um, yeah, I'm good. Can I borrow you and a few buddies?" Jim replied, never taking his eyes off Blair's window. 

"You don't sound good. What's going on?" Slider asked suspiciously. 

"I need help with a mugging." 

"Ellison, if I didn't know you better I'd tell you to shove it." 

"I'm working on a case and I need to get close to someone. I'm hoping this will do the trick." 

Slider grunted noncommittally. "Who're we gonna roll?" 

"Me." 

Silence reigned on the other end of the line for a few seconds before Jim heard his old friend laugh. 

"Oh yeah, this is going to be fun!" 

"I'll just bet. OK, here's the plan." 

* * *

A full hour passed before Blair woke. The storm was over but the eerie silence left in its wake was lost on him. He pulled himself up and walked blindly to his door, thinking only of repairing any damage the storm might have caused the Frasier Fir saplings he'd planted yesterday. Moving in a daze, he descended the stairs to the garden, while trying desperately to block all images of lightening, pain and old pick-up trucks out of his mind. Later, all that existed was the feel of wet earth under his fingers, and the smell of loam and pine in the air. 

Somewhere around midnight, Blair became aware of a loud rumble. It took a few seconds to recognize the sound of a group of motorcycles. He tensed, but relaxed as the sound disappeared. He decided they must've stopped at the all night store around the corner and went back to his work. A short time later, he heard what sounded like singing. It was loud, slurred, and very off key. 

"Drunk," he mumbled to himself as he resolutely returned to his digging. "Hope he makes it home okay." 

The rumbling began again, sounding terribly loud as the bikes left the store and rounded the corner onto his street. He didn't know how, but he just knew there was going to be trouble. As expected, the sound of several motorcycles coming to a stop out front soon mixed with the sounds of jeers and horrible laughter. 

"Well look at this, boys. What've we got here?" a deep voice rumbled. 

"Hooow...dee, fellas!" slurred the drunk loudly. 

"Hey...hey Jackie, let's have some fun with this guy. He'll never know what hit him," a second biker sniveled. 

"Ya know, that's a mighty fine idea ya got there, Mouse," Jackie announced. "Whaddaya say, guys?" 

The gang laughed and the sound of hands slapping against a body, followed by an intoxicatedly outraged, "Hey!" preceded the, "oaf!" as the drunk hit the ground. 

Blair tried to escape as the reality of what was happening collided with his memories, as the sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated through his head, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything as the gang closed in on the drunken man and began to attack him. Words wove to a tangle in his head, in his memory. Chains rattling, zinging through the air, bat swinging, whooshing through the night air, hold him, hold him up! Leather creaking in motion, solid thunk of boots striking vulnerable kidneys, wind howled, lightning flashed, thunder roared, too late for that Fagboy, why are you doing this? Dizzy, can't breathe. Blair huddled in the dirt, arms covering his head and body rocking back and forth rapidly, he silently prayed that they wouldn't kill the man, and for it to be over soon. This is your fault! I'll kill you! Shame filled him as he remembered how close to death he'd been, how he hated that no one had stepped in and stopped his attackers from trying to kill him. From somewhere deep inside himself he found strength and forced himself to move to the gate and peer through the bars. He wouldn't let the stranger be alone in his suffering, he would be a witness. 

The scene Blair saw made him want to throw up. On the dark edge of the street lamp's light, six bikers dressed in leathers were beating a man. The drunk moaned and pleaded for help in a voice no longer slurred as his assailants roughly shoved him around their circle, punching him in the gut or striking his head and face as he passed, like a nightmare gauntlet. As the man fell to the street, the biggest biker pulled a knife. It gleamed in the half-light, a twisted reflection of the flickering, fluorescent-lit scene and Blair's own hell. Before he realized what he was doing, Blair intervened. 

"No!" he yelled as he barreled through the garden gate and into full view. 

They turned, almost as one, and stared at him. 

"Leave him alone!" Blair screamed. He raced across the street, heedless of the danger he was putting himself into, and pushed his way through the group. 

The bikers seemed to be stunned for a moment as the smaller man dropped to his knees and tried to protect the wounded man from further harm. Their leader regrouped first and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the venomous tone of Blair's voice. 

"Anyone lays another hand on this man, I will personally hunt you down and see that you live to regret it. You've got two or three minutes before the cops get here. I suggest you get the hell out of Dodge before I decide to remember what you look like." 

Slider and his friends looked slightly amused, but Blair barely noticed as he turned his attention back to the fallen man. He breathed a huge breath of relief as he heard the motors rumble to life and drive off. 

"Hey, buddy," he whispered as he cradled the unconscious man to his chest. "You're going to be okay; I just have to figure out how to get you off the street and someplace safe." 

Looking up and down the street to be sure they were alone, Blair scooted out from under his charge and laid him on the street. He quickly checked for injuries before trying to move him. As far as he could tell, nothing seemed broken. There were some cuts and bruises on the handsome face, and he was sure the torso would be covered with bruises. As he hadn't seen anything rougher than fists used, Blair decided the risk was minimal and dug his hands under the man's shoulders. He tugged once and was shocked to discover how heavy an unconscious person could be. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" 

He jumped at the voice coming from behind him. Blair looked up to see Mitchell and David, two teens from the second floor looking worried and scared. 

"What happened to him?" asked Mitchell. 

"He was mugged," Blairanswered as he resumed his tugging. 

"Holy shit," replied David. "Really? Did you stop them? Wow, I didn't think you..." 

"Hey, guys? No offense here, but could you move so I can get him inside?" Blair grunted. 

"David, grab his feet," Mitchell ordered as he reached around the guy's middle and lifted. 

"Oh, yeah. Right, his feet." 

With David lifting the legs and Mitchell helping with the middle, the three managed to get the stranger into the building, then the elevator. 

"Are you taking him to your place?" David asked a bit too enthusiastically, as if he was hoping to get a look inside the building recluse's home. 

"He really should go to a doctor, Mr. Sandburg," Mitchell reasoned. "He doesn't look too banged up, but he might have internal injuries or even head injuries. He hasn't woken up yet." 

"No," Blair panted as he rested against the elevator wall. "I think I can handle it. Besides, I hate hospitals." 

Mitchell just shrugged and moved out as the doors opened. 

A few minutes later, the man lay safely nested on the bed, and Blair shooed the teens out. 

"Thanks for your help, guys." 

"No problem, just let us know if we can help." 

Blair ushered them out and closed the door. Methodically locking his locks, Blair leaned his head on the cool surface and whispered, "What the hell have I done?" 

A moan coming from his bedroom caught his attention and Blair rushed to the bedside. The man on the bed hadn't moved so much as his head. Blair decided he'd been hearing things. He stared at the bruised face for a moment, his fingers feathering through the mussed hair, trying not to let himself think about how he had overridden his fear. He wasn't sure he could deal with that right now. Right now, he should think about getting the man cleaned up and his wounds tended. 

* * *

He groaned quietly as he tried to sit up and his muscles protested. While his foggy brain tried to process what the hell had hit him to make him feel this way, he suddenly felt a soft, gentle touch slide around his shoulders. Warmth spread through him, easing his pain and infusing him with a sense of well-being. 

"'s 'ere?" he managed to slur as he felt softness cradle his head. 

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now." 

"sfff. 's good," the man mumbled before leaning back into the arms that held him. 

Blair eased the battered man back onto the mattress. He sat on the edge of the bed and began a softly flowing stream of words as he gently wiped away the sweat with a cool cloth. His heart skipped a beat as the stranger's head turned to follow his voice. He seemed fretful until his cheek bumped up against Blair's hip. The man's movements stilled instantly and the swollen, bruised face relaxed. Blair studied his patient. He wondered who he was, what his life was like. Was there someone out there right now, looking for him? The man looked like he'd been on a three day binge, his clothes smelled like a brewery, his eyes were beginning to turn black, and his lip was cracked, but underneath all the dirt and stink Blair had found a man with neatly trimmed hair, well cared for hands, and a beautiful, kind-looking face. Blair's soul suddenly seemed different as something unexplainable shifted deep within him. Beautiful? Terrified, he leapt from the bed and backed toward the door, dropping the washcloth. When he bumped into the doorframe, a yelp pushed its way past the knot tied in his throat. Turning to flee, his escape was halted when the man on the bed called out. 

"Don' go," the man whispered. 

The noise was harsh, the stranger's voice rough and painful-sounding. But what tore at Blair's desolate heart was the fear he could sense behind the plea. Blair's own fears battled to the forefront and he took another step into the hall. 

"Please!" the stranger gasped. 

Blair shook his head roughly and moved away again. 

"Wait. I..." the words were lost, covered by a cry and crash. 

Blair whirled at the noise and rushed back into the room. 

"Oh, God." He reached out for the fallen man. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted as he gathered the now unconscious man into his lap. His fingers ran through the soft, short strands of hair as he leaned against the displaced night table. Blair held the man closely, sorry for causing the extra pain, afraid of what he was feeling, and drained from the strong emotions he'd experienced in the last twenty-four hours, Blair fell asleep. 

* * *

The phone ringing woke Blair the next morning. His brain was muddled and he groaned, wondering why he was on the floor of his bedroom. He reached for the phone but couldn't move He was so consumed by trying to figure out why his body felt so heavy, his movements so limited, that it took him a minute to process that the phone was actually ringing. He reached out automatically, and then his hand paused in midair. Blair initiated calls to his publisher. All other communication was handled by email, even when his grandfather and his mother tried to reach him. The ringing continued for a few more seconds. Panic set in and Blair's hand began to shake violently, sudden images of an old truck parked outside his building, the dark shape of its driver hidden in the shadows created by the night. He struggled to move, to find a safe place to curl into, but he couldn't. His hands frantically pushed at the weight lying across his legs. When he encountered silky softness he froze instantly. Cautiously looking down, he was shocked to find soft blue eyes watching him. 

"Hi there." The man's raspy voice once again found its way through to Blair's heart. 

"Um... hi," Blair replied hesitantly. "You're awake." A small, shy smile graced his face before reality slammed back into place. "Oh man! Are you all right? How's your head? Do you need anything? I should have taken you to a doctor, but I couldn't get you there by myself, and--" 

"Hey," the stranger quietly interrupted, laying a hand on his arm. "Breathe." 

Blair felt his face heat up even as he unconsciously obeyed the command. He looked away from the warm eyes only to have his gaze land where his arm burned from the other man's touch, the tightening of the grip. Without thinking, he jerked away, years of pain and self-loathing flooding over him in waves. He was something ugly, something to hate and hurt. Someone to kill. The anguish building in his throat threatened to escape, but was stopped by softly whispered words and a calloused palm on his cheek. 

"It's all right. I'm not doing too bad. I'll be fine." 

Blair tensed again, part of him wishing he could bury himself in this stranger's warm, soothing tones, even as instinct pleaded with him to hide. He didn't know the handsome drunk, couldn't rely on his own safety with the larger man in his home, but neither could he deny the need pulling deep within him, tying them together. 

The phone ringing again broke the spell being woven around him by the words and touch of a stranger. He pulled completely away from the injured man and rose from the floor, totally ignoring the phone. 

"You going to answer that?" There was a touch of humor in the quiet voice. 

"No," Blair replied as he moved to right the overturned table. 

"Why not?" he countered. "Hey, are you okay? You're heart's beating way too fast!" Before Blair could answer, the machine picked up. 

"Blair?" 

* * *

The machine picked up, and the injured man split his attention between the caller and the frightened man who was busily putting the room back in order. When an old man's voice rang through the silence, he was glad Blair's face was turned. He wasn't sure he could take seeing his savior's reaction to the obvious pain in the caller's voice. 

"Blair? It's Grand. I'm worried about you. The storm was... I remember..." 

There was a pause, and he could hear the caller clear his throat and begin again. 

"I'm sorry, son. I only want to make sure you're all right. Please call me. I miss you and need to know how you are." 

He was sure he heard a strangled sound just before the caller hung up, but he wasn't sure which person it came from. Deciding to redirect the man's attention, he asked, "Is that you're name?" as he moved to pull himself from the floor, letting out a painful gasp as his ribs protested. The sound got all attention focused on him again. 

"Damn," his rescuer exclaimed as he rushed to him. "Stop," Blair ordered he made another attempt to move. "Wait, let me help." 

He shuddered as one strong hand cradled his neck and head. He tried to shift his focus somewhere away from the feel, but his senses suddenly spiked. The hands burned his skin; Blair's scent filled his nose sending tendrils of heat through him. And the beating heart now sounded like a drum corps. What the hell was going on with him? He hoped it was a reaction to the pain of his injuries, because he didn't know how else to explain any of this. The other man didn't seem to notice as he helped him to his feet and back into bed. 

"I'm going to get some ice for your face, it looks painful. I'll be right back, you just rest," Blair said as he pulled the blankets up, gently smoothing the covers and tucking the edges in around his battered body. 

With those softly spoken words, his senses settled, filling him with an unbelievable sense of rightness. And then Blair moved away and his stomach flipped. His hand tossed the blankets and before he knew what was happening he had gripped one wrist tightly, feeling like he would drown if he let go. His face must have reflected his sudden panic because Blair covered his hand with his own, the warmth of the gentle touch searing him to the bone. His panic wouldn't be pushed down and that scared him so deeply he cried out. Blair was back with him in an instant, folding himself down on the bed and scooting closer. He pulled the wrist he held close to his chest, shifting his grip to enfold the hand in his and curled his body around it. He realized he would never be able to let go. Ever. 

He tucked his head onto the strong chest, inhaling frequently to fill himself with the same sense of hopeful promise that had captivated him the first time he'd heard Blair's soft voice. He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

* * *

Blair stiffened as he his wrist was captured, his mind flashing on other hands that had once held him. He tried to pull away, but the distress evident in the injured man's voice as he cried out snapped him back to reality. He ceased his struggle for freedom instantly and eased himself down onto the bed, watching with disjointed fascination as his patient's panic bled away under his touch. The stranger's grip shifted to enfold his hand and tucked both up to his chest. His fascination turned to shock as the battered body curled in on itself, leaning trustingly against Blair, and the man began to breathe in his smell. Blair was strangely certain that was what was happening. 

Agonizingly slow, afraid of what would happen when he made a connection between them, Blair's free hand rose. It hovered over the short, dark hair for what seemed like an eternity. Then, suddenly needing human contact and not giving a damn about the consequences, he lowered his hand. The feel of the silk softness was only the beginning. Soon, warmth infused him, traveling inward from where the two bodies touched, and went straight to his heart. Not understanding what was happening, Blair let the stranger settle against him as he leaned back against the headboard. As the minutes passed, he marveled at the rising tide of emotions rolling over him. A strange wetness on his face alerted him to the tears escaping his eyes. He was captivated momentarily, wondering how he was feeling frightened and comforted, excited and cautious, in love and outcast, all at the same time. 

It had been a long time since he'd felt anything but fear. It was amazing. Then just as quickly, he remembered. He was mortified at his reaction to the nearness of the injured man, images of the damage a larger man could do racing through his mind, and Blair shivered. He felt a profound sadness, missing the sense of freedom, the reconnection with a life he'd left behind when he'd barricaded himself behind these walls. He unknowingly resumed petting the soft hair and closed his eyes. 

Blair awoke an hour later to find he'd moved very little, except for having slid down a bit farther on the bed. And he still held his patient closely. The weight of something other than pain and terror heavy against his chest was strange, somehow disturbing yet welcome. Blair let his gaze travel over the man in his arms, allowing some small bit of fantasy to peek into his prison. He allowed his fingers to map the strong neck and shoulders. He inhaled slowly, absorbing the scent of two male bodies, warm and slightly damp from being close. 

His imagination cautiously began to paint pictures of a life happily lived with a strong lover, someone who truly cared for him. He imagined a special morning following a special night. He and his lover had gone to dinner at a new restaurant overlooking the marina. They'd eaten a wonderful meal, talked and laughed for hours, and finally, over a last cup of coffee as the sun set in a blaze of spectacular color through the window separating them from the outside world, his lover had given him the best gift he could ever imagine receiving: his all. 

The strong, handsome face of his lover suddenly became serious. Blair's smile slowly faded over the piercing gaze, all his old fears suddenly flooding his min, and he struggled to keep the darkness at bay. Deep down he knew his lover wouldn't hurt him, but he was still fearful. 

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. 

"Blair, I'm tired. I can't continue like this." 

Refusing to acknowledge the sinking feeling tugging at his stomach, Blair asked, "Like what?" 

"You, me, this thing I keep fighting. So, I give up." 

"Give up?" Blair echoed, not noticing the twinkle in his lover's eyes. 

"Yeah. I give up. You win, okay? You're all I can think of, day and night. The feel of your kisses blow me away. I wake up in the morning and all I can think of is why the hell aren't I lying in your bed with your arms wrapped tightly around me, keeping me safe, making me feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters to you. I can barely breathe when you smile at me, when you show me how simple it is to make you happy. That's all that matters to me anymore. I need to show you how wonderful, how special you are. I need to spend the rest of my like taking care of you and fighting with you and cooking dinner with you. I need to wake up with a face full of those wonderful curls and snuggling with you. So, I give up. No more excuses. Marry me? 

Blair laughed at the corniness of his fantasy. 

"You should do that more often." 

The sleep warm voice startled a yelp from Blair. 

"You keep doing that and I'm going to have a heart attack," Blair quipped with ease. He wasn't sure where the playfulness was coming from, but he decided he liked it and that made him stop short. This man was a stranger. He could be a dangerous man. Suddenly frightened once again, he pushed gently away from the man he held and left the bed. 

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked as he tried to corral his unruly hair into a pony tail. When he received no response he cautiously turned around only to find the handsome man staring at him with a blank look on his face. 

"Um, hello?" 

Blair approached with caution when he didn't see any sign of life. He spoke a few more sentences as he slowly approached the bed, but again, received no sign of recognition. Slowly, fearfully, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch the catatonic man. 

"Maybe he's dead," thought Blair outrageously. He'd seen the man take several blows to the head. He knew personally how dangerous one well placed fist could be. Or maybe he'd hit his head when he fell to the street. Another flood of panic threatened to rise over him, causing him to slap the man's chest instead of touch. He only wanted to check for movement, for breathing, anything to tell him he was still alive and he screamed when the chest under his hand heaved and drew in a great breath. The ice-blue eyes flew unerringly to Blair's frightened face. Neither man said anything for long moments; then everything fell into place, the scenting, the need to have a physical connection, the comments about his heartbeat, now this. Not dead...zoned! Blair was sure of it now. Blair spoke what seemed to come naturally. Like it had long ago, in his other life. 

"Hey, it's okay. I'm Blair and you're safe with me." 

The blue eyes blinked and the sudden terror bled away. Again, the man reached to grasp the hand still covering his heart. Blair's own heart stuttered again at the feel of the hand enveloping, his and hewatched as the calm was replaced by a frown. 

"What's wrong?" he asked timidly. 

"Your heart is racing. Are you hurt?" the stranger asked. 

"No, you scared me, is all. I thought you were dead." 

"Dead?" 

Blair smiled again and gently pulled his hand free. 

"I asked you a question and you didn't answer. I turned around to find you totally gone. No response, nothing. Not even a blink. And you weren't breathing, either. Then when I touched you, you came back." Blair took a deep breath, and changed the subject. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"I guess so," the man answered cautiously. 

Blair chuckled at the suspicion lacing the reply, almost losing track of his thoughts as he was once again treated to a change on the man's face. "Does this happen often?" 

At the glacial glare sent his way, Blair decided on another question. 

"Um... OK. Do you have a name?" 

"Of course. Doesn't everyone?" 

Blair snickered and pasted an "I'm-waiting" expression on his face. 

"It's...My name is... arrgghh!" he screamed, hands flying to his face. 

Blair wrapped his fingers around both wrists and tugged gently. 

"Shhh, it's okay. Don't worry about that now. I know I keep saying this, but it really will be just fine." 

Tugging at the strong arms wasn't accomplishing much, so Blair let go. Instead, he wrapped his hand over a shoulder and softly kneaded the tight flesh. 

"I'm Blair, by the way." 

"Blair?" Jim whispered, looking up. 

"That's me." He grinned. "Hey, why don't you rest some more and I'll get you some breakfast," Blair said, helped him get comfortable. "Be right back." 

The other man lay back on the bed. He took a deep breath and dropped off into a light doze. 

Blair made it back to the kitchen before he began to shake. He dropped into a chair, feeling a blackness overtake him. He tried deep breathing, looking for his quiet, safe place. After a few attempts, he slipped away. 

The darkness surrounded him. Blair took comfort in the nothingness. Here there were no worries or fears, no one to hurt him or hate him. He didn't need anything or anyone. 

Blair just was for a while, not caring how much time passed, before he noticed something different. A calm breeze ruffled his hair; nothing strong, but so very fresh. He looked around; trying to find the source, but all he could see was darkness. He felt bereft and turned in a slow circle, searching, and yearning. He found nothing. 

He snapped open his eyes and found himself back in his kitchen, staring into his guest's blue eyes. 

"Welcome back," the stranger said, gently fingering a curl. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" 

Blair straightened in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. 

"Yeah, I suppose we are." 

He shrugged off the touch and stood, putting as much distance between the wounded man and himself. 

"So, I was going to bring you breakfast. Are you hungry?" 

"I could eat," the man responded with the same maddening smile. It frightened Blair, and he backed away. 

"You should be in bed," he scolded. 

"I'm good for now." 

"Please, just go back to bed. I'll bring breakfast when it's ready," Blair said, appealing to the other man to leave him alone. 

He could feel the man's eyes on him for the longest time. He held his breath, praying for the man to go, to not have to face another fear. The seconds passed, accompanied by the clock's ticking. In the end, he heard a resigned sigh and listened as the other man painfully rose and shuffled around the table. Though he couldn't be sure, Blair thought he felt a soft touch brush his shoulder, and then he was alone. 

* * *

Jim sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. He'd slept for probably half and hour before awakening with a headache. He'd looked around the room, searching for who had saved him. Finding no sign of his host he'd stretched out his senses and searched. He didn't realize what he was doing until he had spotted the silver-framed photograph on the dresser. It held a picture of Blair and an older man. In that instant, everything had snapped back into place. He remembered the storm, the beating, his reason for being here. Most importantly, he remembered Blair. Jim remembered Blair's fear and pain, his losses and vulnerabilities. And he remembered how the man affected Jim, his senses and his compassion. Blair calmed him, centered him, made him feel real. Jim only wanted to hold him close, to protect him from all his fears and show him how to smile again. The problem was, Blair knew nothing of why Jim was here. Blair only knew fear and pain and loneliness. So, Jim now battled with himself over the only two choices he could see. If he told the truth, he would have to leave. And if he left, his chances of ever seeing Blair again plummeted. And that wasn't an option. 

His internal battle was forgotten when he heard a small sound coming from the direction of the bedroom door. Jim couldn't help but suck in a gasp when he looked at Blair. He stood, holding a tray, his hair a halo framed by the light. An unsure smile graced his face, and Jim thought he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Blair must have sensed something was wrong, because his face shuttered closed quickly. Jim was saddened to see his face drop into the mask of the lonely man he'd so often observed through his camera lens. 

Determined to give Blair his space, Jim turned as best as he could and lay down in the bed. One arm wrapped around his bruised ribs, Jim eased his sore body back against the pillows and sighed with relief. It felt good to relax, easing the burden of overtaxed muscles. Silently, Jim swore to tear Slider a new one for being so overzealous. He decided to stick around for a few days, taking advantage of the few precious hours he could get, absorbing all he could. And in the meantime, maybe he could come up with a way to stay in Blair's life. 

* * *

The next two days passed in a very strange manner for Blair. His patient hadn't risen from the bed since the morning he'd found Blair in the midst of his quasi zone out, except to use the bathroom. Blair grew increasingly worried as the man failed to regain his memory. Unsure of the cause, Blair decided that he must have injured himself further when he'd fallen that first morning. He spent his time sleeping or staring out the window. Blair spent his time feeding him, caring for him, and worrying. 

Then early this afternoon, they'd had a breakthrough. Jim had awakened from what looked to Blair like a nightmare. His frightened eyes had immediately looked to Blair's and when they'd met, Jim's confusion had cleared. He'd smiled the smile of a newly freed man. And said only two words: I remember. Then he had reached for Blair, pulling their bodies tightly together, holding on tightly. It made Blair feel strong, like he could do something meaningful for someone and he wanted to make everything right for Jim. He wanted to hold him and keep him safe from the world. Most of all, he wanted to love him for as long as Jim would let him. 

Now Blair sat in his favorite chair, reading over his notes for the first book he'd attempted to write, his dissertation. Somewhere around page 327 he looked around and discovered he was sitting in a patch of sunlight. He looked out to the garden, filled with spring sunshine and a light breeze that rustled the flowers. In that moment he couldn't remember feeling so peaceful. 

As he read his own words describing the legendary Sentinel, listening to the soft snores of the man on the couch, Blair wondered how this amazing man, this Jim Ellison, would react to knowing he was a Sentinel. This was so much more than it had been with Jeff. 

They'd talked a lot since Jim's memory had returned. Blair was saddened to learn of Jim's time in the Army, how he'd been betrayed and sent to his death by a man he respected and trusted. His heart hurt for the loss of Jim's team and the pain he'd suffered. 

He looked back at the dozing Sentinel, at the man who filled his long-empty apartment and life; Blair opened himself just a tiny bit. He let the peace of knowing he was connected to something so special fill him. If he tried really, really hard he might be allowed to spend a few precious weeks observing and learning, recording. That's all he'd ever wanted in his life. 

Jim didn't talk much about his present life. Blair only knew that he had one brother and a father. He hadn't spoken to either in fifteen years and Blair, though he knew how it felt to be totally cut off from his family, felt an intense desire to help Jim repair their relationship. Blair thought back to his own family and felt the familiar ache fill him. "Damn it," he growled. Jim began to stir, so Blair closed his notebook and left behind his dreams of being a guide. When Blair was certain that Jim was awake, he spoke. 

"I have to go out for awhile. Do you think you can handle being alone for a while?" 

Jim blinked and cleared his throat. "I suppose. Where are you going?" 

"There's something I have to do." Blair's tone brooked no argument as he raised himself out of the chair and moved toward the bathroom. "I shouldn't be gone long. I'll make dinner when I get back." 

Blair left his new friend quickly, leaving no time for questions, and slipped into the bathroom. He locked the door firmly behind him. When he emerged, he was dressed from head to toe in black again, and gathered up his keys and wallet. 

"Do you need anything before I leave?" 

Blair watched Jim trying to form an answer, but he couldn't seem to do more than stare at Blair. He didn't understand, but was sure it had nothing to do with Jim's injuries. Refusing to give it more thought, he took one last look around, then left. 

By the time he exited the elevator, he was functioning on autopilot, as he would be until he left his grandfather's home, once again having failed to gather the courage he needed to let his family back in. They didn't understand why he had been attacked, and he didn't know how to open up to them and let them help. He missed them terribly. His stepbrother's memory a gaping hole in his life, but his mother and grandfather's absence left his heart empty and hurting. 

He parked in his usual spot, down at the edge of the park. Blair marveled at the beauty of the house. It reminded him of the old pre-war estates of Europe. He was close enough to see Mathew's old tire swing lazily rocking back and forth in the breeze. Beyond that, Blair could see the roof of the tree house he had helped build for Carson's sixth birthday. And when the breeze blew strongly enough it ruffled the tarp covering the old Ferrari he and Grand had been restoring. 

Blair let his eyes drift to the terrace, holding his breath as his grandfather emerged. He watched as the stately older gentleman carried his coffee and book to the table. Blair was struck by how old he seemed. Eric Braedon had always been a larger-than-life figure in Blair's eyes. When they'd first met, Blair had only been twelve. Naomi and he had stopped off in Cascade to visit Thomas and Lily. Blair really liked his mother's friends, but their sons were not the image of their peace loving parents. They'd bullied and tormented a young, quiet Blair when no one was looking. He'd suffered bruises, pulled hair and more than his share of bloody noses during their yearly visits. 

That summer, Blair had been hiding from the "terrorists," as he called Sage and Reed, when he'd heard a deep voice behind him. 

"You're crushing my Peony's." 

Blair whirled around, startled by the old man standing directly behind him. The stern look on his face reminded the young boy that he needed to move. 

"I'm sorry!" he yelped. Blair dropped to his knees, frantically patting the dirt at the base of the bush. He reached for one dangling blossom and futilely tried to make it stand tall. Looking up helplessly at the man towering over him, the boy was on the verge of tears when the man smiled at him and let out a loud laugh. Blair felt instantly at ease. 

Large hands landed on his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. He landed a few feet away from the trampled bush. 

"Wow! You made me fly!" 

The older man chuckled and ruffled his hair. 

Blair smiled wistfully as he remembered the afternoons he spent visiting with Thomas and Lily's older neighbor. He shook his head, realizing now that his Grand wasn't as old back then as Blair's twelve-year-old self had thought. Sadly, after two weeks, Naomi had moved on, taking Blair with her. 

Then two years later, in a bizarre twist of fate, Naomi had married Charles Braedon, son of Eric and Carol Braedon. Blair, at the tender age of fourteen, had been ecstatic; his friend, the old man, had become his Grand. Charles was nice to him and his two little boys were cute. Naomi seemed happy, and all was right with Blair's world. 

Now the old man really did look old. His hair was still thick, but stark white. What had once been a tall, strong body was now stooped with age, the once handsome face, whose eyes twinkled with mischief, now look tired and sad. At this moment, Blair wished for nothing more than to go to his grandfather and make it all better. He longed to see the smile directed at him, showing his silent support and pride in his favorite grandson. He reached for the door handle, willing his cowardly reflexes to finally open the door and go to them. Blair froze when Naomi appeared on the terrace. His heart lurched painfully at the sight of his beautiful mother. Her smile was visible even from Blair's hiding place, and as much as he wanted to have his life back, he knew if he came back, if the truth were known, it would destroy her. 

Blair's hand dropped from the handle and he started the car. As he drove home, he fought against the encroaching depression. He directed his thoughts to the garden. As soon as he got home he would change his clothes and go bury himself and his feelings in the earth. He needed to feel alive now and nothing made him feel alive like having his hands in the earth, planting, shaping, and tending to the fragile life which grew there. 

He parked his car and took the elevator to his floor. He'd failed again. Tears streaming down his face, heart pounding, and breathing ragged, Blair fought with the lock on his front door. His hands shook and any attempt to fit the key in properly failed. Finally, crying out in helplessness and anger at the ruins of his life, the broken man slid down the frame toward the floor. 

He never made it. 

* * *

Jim was worried, had been since Blair left. He was going home. Jim's heart ached for the younger man for he knew Blair would only be torturing himself. He wasn't strong enough to face his old life, and though Jim didn't know the real reason Blair couldn't go home, he suspected it had something to do with his grandfather. Jim wanted to go with Blair, the need to protect him battling his orders to not reveal himself. He'd reined in those feelings and desires which had burst into life in Blair's arms only yesterday. 

Looking at the clock on the VCR, Jim realized how late it was. His recent observations of Blair's routine showed the longest he'd managed to stay outside Mr. Braedon's house was thirty minutes. It had been three hours since Blair left and Jim was beginning to imagine all kinds of terrible things. Maybe he had car trouble and was stranded out there somewhere, all alone. He could have been in an accident and could be lying in an emergency room, broken and bleeding, with no one who loved him nearby. 

"Oh, God," Jim moaned. "I have to find him." 

Throwing off the blanket, he pushed himself off the couch and toward the bedroom in search of his clothes. He took three steps, then stopped. He heard a noise that sounded loud and painful in his ears. It was wet and ragged and labored, like someone was having trouble breathing. Jim let his hearing follow the sound across the parking garage and into the lobby. It muffled momentarily by the sound of the elevator. Jim shook his head to clear the hallucinatory noise reverberating through his brain. He stepped forward again and was inundated with sensory input. In a flood, he heard the elevator doors open, smelled salty water, heard the wet gasping sound of despair, and Blair's unsteady footsteps in the hall way. The sound of a key being forced into the lock then yanked out again, of struggling, and finally cloth dragging against wood, spurred Jim into action. He raced to the front door, jerked it open, and slid to the floor just in time to keep Blair from landing on the carpet. He gathered the crumpled form into his arms, held him tightly and rocked him soothingly. 

Neither man spoke as Jim continued to rock, occasionally placing kisses on the top of Blair's head. The distraught man only held on and silently cried. Eventually, Jim managed to maneuver them inside the apartment and get the door closed. 

Long minutes later, or hours for all Jim knew, he felt Blair's tears recede, the soft hitching eased and he began to stir. He knew Blair would be moving away soon, and he was glad that he was cried out for now, but sad that he would have to relinquish his hold. It was something he never wanted to do, for as long as he lived. 

As Jim tensed, Blair whimpered and turned his head into Jim's neck. He felt warm kisses on his throat, and moaned. Blair shifted to straddle his lap and burrowed his hands under Jim's terry cloth robe. They felt so good on his skin, so alive and hot and tender. His head dropped back against the wall as teeth scored his collar bone. He didn't know exactly when his robe fell open, he only registered the wet heat engulfing one nipple. 

Jim groaned and cupped the back of Blair's head, holding him in place. The younger man allowed it for a few seconds, and then shook it off as he moved to possess the other nipple. Jim's hands dropped to Blair's hips, dragging their groins together. They gasped as their erections ground against one another. That seemed to be what Blair was waiting for. The floodgates opened and within minutes Jim found himself flat out on the floor with a naked Blair writhing on top of his equally naked body. Stunned to the core, Jim did the only thing he could do. He spread his legs wide, pulled Blair's body closer, and begged for more. 

"Please, Blair! I need--" 

"What, Jim? Tell me how to please you. Tell me what it would take for you to give me your heart and soul. Tell me how to keep you here with me forever. How can I make you love me?" 

Jim looked up into Blair's haunted eyes and for several long seconds, didn't know what to say. How could he tell Blair everything he felt for the man in his arms? How much he'd come to mean to him, how he knew now his days of partying and searching and alcohol induced numbness were over? When the answer came to him, he knew what he had to do. He raised a hand to cup Blair's cheek. 

"Make love to me. Fuck me so hard I'll never feel empty again. Then let me tell you a story." 

Blair looked deep into Jim's eyes, as though he was searching for something. Would what he found scare him? Blair made up his mind. 

"Yes," he said earnestly. "I trust you." 

He levered himself off the floor and walked calmly away. Jim had only moments to decipher what was happening, when Blair returned with a bottle of lotion. He led Jim to the bedroom and pushed him down on the soft mattress. Covering his body completely, aligning their groins again, Blair resumed his movements. The forceful sucking on one nipple returned Jim to his frenzied state in seconds. He spread his legs again, allowing his lover access. He was never quite sure how it happened, but moments later Blair was pounding into him. The air resonated with the sound of the creaking bed and their combined grunts and moans. The swirling scent of sweat and sex filled Jim's nose and heart and soul. He locked his heels tightly around Blair's waist and came, hard. Blair followed seconds later, and dropped onto Jim's body like a stone. 

"I love you, Blair," Jim said, wrapping his arms around the still shuddering body. "Please don't forget that. You're a part of me. You're lodged so deep in my soul that I'll die without you. I can't even tell where I end and you begin." 

* * *

Blair opened his eyes as he listened to Jim's declarations. He gazed out the window into the darkness, letting the words wash over him, vocalizing his own thoughts and re-enforcing his fragile feelings. For a few moments he'd flown free. He wasn't a monster or someone to hate. He was loved, cared for, trusted. The tiny flickering flame of hope grew a little brighter deep in his soul. He prayed that what Jim had to say wouldn't kill him. 

He rubbed his cheek on the bare chest he was laying on and whispered, "Tell me a story, Jim." 

Jim tightened his arms around the fragile man and began speaking. 

"A few weeks ago, my life was in the toilet. There was nothing I cared about, not even myself. I was drunk most of the time and on the verge of losing my job, and the friendship of a very close friend. Then one morning, after a night I only remember parts of, I walked into my office and met a man. His name was Eric." 

Blair stiffened upon hearing the name, but Jim only tightened his hold. 

"Eric had lost someone very dear to him. He was sad and lonely and desperate. He asked my boss for help. Simon gave me the job. I was only supposed to follow him, watch him, but never contact him. So I did. It was easy and kept me out of trouble, which is what I needed, I guess." Jim chuckled and Blair's head bounced a little, but he didn't respond. 

"Anyway, I began to notice things were changing. I could see his face clearly from a block away. The sound of his voice as he talked to himself found its way to my ears from across the street. He began to touch me. The way he struggled to breathe when he was frightened, the way he laughed when a friendly toddler stuffed soggy goldfish into his mouth, spoke to me. I discovered that this man was strong in spite of what he'd suffered." 

Blair fought to move, to breathe as images of and old truck following him flashed in his mind. 

"You bastard!" he hissed. 

"Please, Blair. Listen! Let me finish before you throw me out of your life." Blair continued to struggle, tears streaming down his face. Jim only held on and resumed his story. 

"I watched him as he channeled his pain into the garden he tended. I watched as he sat outside his family's home and longed to go in. My heart broke every time he couldn't, and he hated himself. Then one night, a storm was brewing. It promised to be quite a show and I convinced myself that the man wouldn't be out in the ugly weather. I ran from him and straight into the arms of a poor substitute. The kicker was that I discovered I was only running from myself. Everywhere I looked I saw him. Her hair, her mouth, her voice all became his in my mind. Again I ran. From myself, from what I wanted, from what I'd done to him. See, I realized that I only wanted him. I belonged to him; needed him to smile at me, because of me, for me. I needed to make his pain go away and shelter him from his fears and the world he constructed around himself. 

When the storm hit, I felt like I'd abandoned him. I left him in the dark, alone with his terror on a night just like the one I'd read about in his file, like the night he'd been brutally attacked and left for dead. I made my way back to his apartment as fast as I could. I felt like my heart was being ripped out as I listened to him having a panic attack. Right then it was clear to me that I would never let him go through something like this alone." 

Blair curled into himself as much as he could within the steel bands of Jim's arms, struggling to find something to say. 

"So it was you? Your truck that's been sitting outside?" 

"Yes," Jim said quietly. 

"My grandfather hired you to follow me?" 

"Yes." 

"I miss him, Jim," Blair said painfully. 

"I know you do," Jim replied, softly placing kisses on his lover's hair. "He misses you, too." 

"Why'd you do it, Jim? Why did you make me believe you were hurt and didn't know who you were?" Blair's voice came out sounding like a frightened child, but he didn't care. 

"I needed a way to get close to you. I know it was horrible to make you think I was being beat up. I had no right to play off your pain. But the end result was real. I took a blow to the head and honestly didn't remember anything at first. I remembered soon after, but faked it so I could find a way to stay close to you. I finally decided I'd just have to risk it all and tell you the truth. I was going to tell you but you took off." 

"But why did you make me love you?" Blair whispered, his voice raw with pain. 

"Because I'm a selfish bastard. I need you for everything. You made me care about something for the first time since I left Peru. You made my senses sing, and what I can do with them when you're nearby is amazing. I need you to help me understand them; I know you know how. But most of all, I need to take care of you and help you heal." 

"I don't think I can do that," Blair stated mournfully. 

"You can, Blair. You know it and I know it. You're just scared right now." 

Blair laughed hollowly, "You have no idea just how terrified I am." 

"I do, love. When my team died, I wandered for days. I was sick and injured, and I felt so damn guilty for not having died. My senses were going crazy, and the fever finally kicked my ass. When I came to, I was in a hut. The air was hot and wet and filled with smoke. I couldn't breathe or move, and I was surrounded by painted faces. I couldn't understand them, and they scared the hell out of me. I fought them for weeks, until one day, their shaman managed to make me understand something. It was like I was a new man. He helped me, taught me, cared for me. With his help I survived." Blair felt a kiss on his hair as Jim paused. It made his stomach flutter. "I want to be that for you, Blair. 

"You can't," Blair retorted. 

"Yes, I can. Tell me what happened," Jim pleaded calmly, stroking the soft curls tucked under his chin. 

"No." 

"Please, baby. Trust me." 

"God, Jim. You have no idea how much I want to," Blair said, raising his head to look into Jim's eyes. 

"Then do it. Let go and let me catch you," Jim said, placing a tender kiss on Blair's lips. 

"Jim, I can't," he cried, once again burying his face in Jim's neck. 

"You're strong and it's all in the past. It can't hurt you if you don't let it." Jim stroked the soft flesh of Blair's exposed back. "I'll start for you. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young man named Blair. He was brilliant and happy and--" 

"And he was only a kid," Blair continued after a moment. "I was twelve when I first met Grand. Mom was visiting some friends in his neighborhood. I was some geeky science nerd who was bullied by their sons. I was hiding from them when he found me. I loved him right away. I spent every minute I could with him. But Naomi, my mom, decided to move on and we left Cascade. 

"A few years later, fate or destiny or whatever brought us back to Cascade. Naomi married a man named Charles Braedon." Blair faltered slightly over the name and was warmed to feel Jim's embrace tighten slightly. 

"Charles was a nice man. He'd lost his first wife to cancer and he had two little boys. I was fourteen and trying to be Mr. Cool," Blair shook his head at the memory, then continued. We moved in with Grand and I was happy. When I wasn't with my grandfather I was ensconced in his library. It was where I found my first mention of Sentinels, which is what your senses make you." 

Jim `hmmed' but didn't comment further, only continued the stroking he'd been doing on Blair's back. 

"Then one day I heard a commotion in the hall. Mathew was sitting in the middle of the floor, staring into empty space. Everyone was pretty freaked out. Nothing they tried seemed to bring him out of it. After what seemed like forever to me, Mom and Charles rushed out to call an ambulance. Grand was sitting on the floor with him, but not touching him. I remember he looked at me and..." 

"Come here, son." 

Blair looked from Jeff to his grandfather, unsure what to do. He stepped closer and Grand took his wrist, tugging him the rest of way. 

"Help him, Blair," he said in a quiet, yet strong voice. 

"Sir?" Blair asked. "Help him how? I don't know what to do." 

"Yes, you do," Grand said, moving Blair's hand close to Mathew's shoulder. 

"Don't think, just do." 

Grand nodded encouragingly and Blair agreed. He turned to his younger brother and began to speak. 

"Hi, Jeff. Are you OK?" Blair laid his hand on the younger boy's arm and moved it gently up and down. 

"Hey, little brother. Are you in there? What's got you so captured? Whatever it is can't be as good as Miss Maria's cookies. Can you smell them? They're almost done. If you don't come back, Carson is going to eat them all. Come back, Mathew. Come back now." 

Mathew blinked, and Blair let out a sigh of relief. 

"You scared us, Jeff," Blair scolded. 

"'M sorry, Blair. I couldn't help it." 

"It's OK, kid. But I think you freaked out Mom and your dad. I'd better go tell them we don't need that ambulance." 

"Ambulance? I was gonna get to ride in an ambulance? 

Blair laughed at his little brother's enthusiasm. 

"I'll go, Blair," Grand said. "You take Jeff into the kitchen. I'm sure Maria can spare some of those cookies for you." 

"Cookies!" 

"Yeah, cookies. Come on, you monster. Let's go." 

"Blair?" Grand called, stopping Blair in his tracks. "Well done." 

"He was like me, wasn't he?" Jim asked, bringing Blair back into the present. 

Blair shook his head, admiring how quickly Jim picked up on the similarities. 

"Jeff only had two heightened senses: hearing and sight. His hearing was good, but not as good as his sight. From what I can tell so far, yours are so far beyond that." 

"So you helped Jeff. Why do I think there's a lot more?" not letting Blair get distracted. 

"I don't know if I can tell you this part." 

"You're strong. You can do this," Jim encouraged, placing another kiss on the curls tucked under his chin. 

Blair inhaled deeply and shifted out of Jim's arms. He sat facing his lover, but pulled a pillow into his lap to cover his nakedness. 

"Jeff's problem seemed to come and go in waves. He usually had more problems when things were emotionally hard for him. When he did have problems, he came to me. I was the only one able to bring him out of his zones." 

"Zones?" 

"His blank states. Like yours the other day." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah, oh." 

"Jeff's zones," Jim reminded when Blair didn't continue. 

"Right. Jeff and I started spending a lot of time together. You have to understand something, Jim. My mom is like, the original hippie. She lived her life according to a single rule: live and let live. I've seen a lot in my life, and I learned early on that I was gay. Jeff was cool, for a little brother, and he didn't seem to mind that I liked boys. He said he'd keep my secret. 

"When I was almost seventeen, I won a scholarship to Rainier. Mom didn't really want me to go, but I think Charles pushed her into saying yes. Something happened six months after I left. Jeff stopped calling me and Carson stopped writing. I went home when I could, but no one would tell me anything." 

"Holidays were tough, privately Charles wasn't as nice to me as before, but as long as I stuck close to Grand I was OK. I soon found ways to keep me away over the summer. But when I graduated, Grand insisted I come home until I could finish my book so I moved into the guest house. Naomi was great, and being with my brothers again made me feel like we were a family again. I avoided Charles as much as I could. 

"Two years later, I'd published my first book. It was a modest success, but my second was a best seller. I suspect Grand had something to do with the first, but the second was all mine. 

"Then I met Asa. He knocked me for a loop and out of the park. I was young, in love, and stupid. He spent the night one night, everyone was supposed to be gone for the weekend...Charles and Naomi came home early and Charles caught us. He freaked out. Asa left, never to be seen again, and I went ballistic. Only the reemergence of Jeff's senses kept me from leaving. But, stay or go, my fate was already sealed. Jeff, too, had fallen in love. With a boy named Ryder. To make a long story short, Charles blamed me and my `twisted desires'. That's why he'd stopped Jeff from contacting me. Then Jeff met another boy and ran away. He died in a car accident a month later," Blair choked out. 

"And one night I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. End of story." 

Blair's breathing grew rough, and his heart pounded loudly in his ears. The story was almost complete but he didn't think he could tell anymore. Jim moved in behind him and wrapped his arms around him. 

"I've got you, baby. You're safe." 

"It was Charles, Jim," Blair choked out. "He thought I made Jeff gay." Blair rubbed the scar crossing his chest. "He gave me this. How could he hate me so much? I loved him, Jim." 

"I'm so sorry, Blair. I'm sorry I wasn't there to save you. It wasn't your fault, and I promise you he will pay." 

"No, Jim. You can't do anything," Blair begged, twisting out of Jim's arms. He captured his lover's face in his hands and pleaded. "Please leave it alone. It would kill my mom and Grand if they knew the truth. I can't do that to them." 

"But Blair, he ruined you life. He tried to kill you. I can't let him get away with that." 

Blair wasn't sure what to do. To have someone care so much about him, someone who was willing to avenge his loss, meant so much. He had dreamed of--longed for--someone like Jim. But Charles scared the hell out of him. He had to do something to stop Jim. 

"He didn't ruin my life. He only postponed it a few years. I let him chase me away. And now I have you. He can't take that, Jim. He can't take what we have from me." 

"What will you do now?" 

"Well, that depends a lot on what you've got planned for the next hundred years," Blair said shyly, gazing at Jim from under his lashes. 

"Seriously? You don't hate me?" Jim asked. 

"Jim, I don't like that you lied to me, but how can I not love you for caring so much about me? I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that everything is better now. I'm still a basket case and probably will be for a long time to come. But if you help me, I might be able to get better someday." 

"You're already getting better. And you just try to get rid of me. Not ever going to happen, Chief." 

Blair laughed and leaned over to kiss Jim. 

When the kiss ended, Jim reached over and picked up the phone. He held it out to his lover and asked, "Will you call him?" 

For a long time Blair looked at the phone like it would bite him. Then he shakily reached out and took it. He slowly dialed the number and willed himself not to hang up. What if Charles answered, or his mom? 

On the third ring, someone picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Grand? It's Blair." 

* * *

Blair stood on the sidewalk leading up to his family's home. He was shaking and struggling to breathe. Jim was right behind him, giving encouragement by rubbing small circles on his back. 

"Ready?" Jim asked. 

"No," Blair replied, still staring at the massive front door. 

"Yes, you are. You can do this. Just think of Grand and your mom," Jim advised. "Take a deep breath...that's it, good. Now another. You're doing great, Blair." The reassurance was followed by a kiss on the crown of Blair's head. 

"Jim," Blair moaned. 

"Knock, Blair. Remember, he can't take me from you." 

"Okay. I can do this," Blair told himself. He pulled himself up straight and knocked firmly. The door opened to reveal Mr. Braedon. His eyes traveled from Blair to Jim before settling back on Blair. He didn't move, as if afraid he would frighten his grandson away. Blair moved back a step, but Jim blocked the way. He was lightly shoved toward his grandfather, and suddenly they were both moving. Blair cried out softly as he was enveloped in the old man's arms. 

"It's good to see you, son," Eric whispered. "I've missed you." 

"Me, too, Grand," Blair said, still held tightly. 

"Blair?" 

Blair moved at the sound of the new voice. "Mom?" he said as he rushed to her. She gathered him closely and rocked him as they cried. 

Mr. Braedon turned to Jim with a scowl. "You were only supposed to watch him." 

"I know sir. But he was so sad. And he needed me so much. I just had to be there for him." 

"Mr. Ellison!" he said sternly, interrupting Jim. "Thank you for bringing him back to me. Please, come in." He stepped aside and allowed Jim to enter. Mr. Braedon led Jim to the great room, where Blair was happily being reunited with his mother. 

"Jim!" Blair exclaimed when he saw his lover. "Jim, come meet my mom." 

"Mrs. Braedon," Jim said, extending his hand toward the tall redhead who stood to greet him. 

"Please, it's Naomi. I understand that I have you to thank for bringing Blair back home. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Jim's hand was folded into her warm grip and she placed a small kiss on his cheek. "I don't know how I'll be able to repay you." 

"Not necessary, Naomi. Blair is all the thanks I need," he smiled shyly at Blair. 

"Yes, I can see that. Congratulations, Blair," she said warmly. "And welcome to our family, Jim." 

Blair wanted to laugh at how quickly Jim had been adopted, at how his mother knew right away and still loved him. He frowned again as that made him remember the other reason they were here. He looked at his mom, then his Grand, then to Jim. He felt a sudden panic, but Jim read him quickly and dropped beside him on the leather couch. 

"You need to do this, Blair. We're all here for you," he said softly, taking a shaking hand in his. "Go ahead." 

Blair looked down, his hair falling like a curtain around his face. 

"Son? What's going on?" Mr. Braedon asked. 

When Blair said nothing, Jim took over. They'd talked earlier, about how to tell his family what had happened. Jim wanted to confront Charles, but Blair was still afraid. "Mr. Braedon, is your son here? We'd like to talk with him." Beside him, Blair cringed, but remained mute. 

"Charles? He's out on the terrace upstairs. I'll go find him," Naomi responded and moved to stand. 

"Wait. Jim, I have to tell them first," Blair said, now looking up. His eyes were sad, but in them Jim could see the strength he'd gained since finding his lover. 

"Whatever you think is best, love," he said without thinking. Mr. Braedon patted him on the shoulder and Naomi seated herself with a smile. 

"Mom, Grand. This is very hard for me; I've been locked away in my own private hell for two years. I've suffered beyond what you could imagine because...because I was a monster. I was something evil and twisted and didn't deserve to live." 

"Blair?" 

"Let me finish, Naomi. Do you remember the night you and Charles came home early from the Crow's party?" 

"Yes, I wasn't feeling well and Charles was bored. Why?" she asked. 

"That night, Charles came out to the guest house. Whatever he wanted, he didn't get a chance to say anything." Blair took a raspy breath before continuing. Jim tightened his grip on the hand he held. "Charles came in without knocking and found me in bed with my lover. Charles was livid. He didn't care that I was an adult or that I had been discrete, he only cared that I was in bed with another man. He said that I was an abomination; that I was sick and he didn't want me anywhere near his sons. Asa left, and I never saw him again, but Charles has hated me ever since. He hated anything and everything about me. Especially my relationship with Jeff." Blair choked over his brother's name, but Jim rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, kneading the tension, willing him strength to continue. "Anyway, I moved out and I thought things were okay." 

"But they weren't, were they, son?" Mr. Braedon asked. The look on his face told Jim that he was putting the pieces together. He only hoped that his love for his grandson would hold true in the face of actually hearing the words he knew were coming. 

"No, Grand, they weren't. Back when I was at Rainier, something happened here, something that caused me to be cut off from the boys. After Asa left, Charles screamed at me until it finally slipped out that he'd also caught Jeff with another boy. He said I made Jeff gay. I didn't, I swear! I didn't do anything to him, I loved him so much!" 

Naomi gathered Blair into her arms and held him tightly. Jim followed, needing to stay as close to him as possible. "It's all right, Blair. I know you didn't do anything. Jeff was a joy and he loved you, idolized you, but he knew his own mind. Anything he did, he did because he wanted to, needed to. You know that," she told him softly, as she rocked him. 

"God, Mom. I killed him!" 

"No, Blair, you didn't," Eric added. "A drunk driver killed him. Nothing more," he said as he stroked Blair's hair. 

After a few minutes of crying, Jim decided that Blair needed to finish his story. "Tell them the rest, Blair. We all love you, you'll be fine. You're going to be just fine, now." 

Blair nodded in his mother's embrace and disentangled himself. "After Jeff died, I began to get threatening messages. I'd get terrorizing phone calls in the middle of the night, angry hate mail, even a gruesome collection of pictures of Mathew Sheppard's death! I tried going to the police, but without proof, and being gay, they didn't want to bother with me," he said almost bitterly. "One night I was coming home from having dinner with a friend. I walked Cathy to her car, and was on the way back to mine when I noticed I was being followed. I ran like hell, but they were always right behind me. They cornered me in an alley and, well, you know the rest," Blair ended abruptly. 

He hadn't told them who hurt him yet, but Jim could see a change come over him. He wasn't a victim anymore, someone who'd tried in his own way to get on with his life. This was someone who was angry and ready to fight back. Jim found he couldn't have been prouder of his Blair. 

"You know who it was, don't you, Blair," Eric Braedon stated. "You can tell us." 

Jim looked to Naomi; she was confused and looking between her father-in-law and her son. 

"What's going on, Blair?" she asked. "You said you couldn't identify your attackers." 

Blair looked at his mother, as if gauging how much to say, or if what he needed to say would be worse than what he'd endured. He turned his gaze to Jim, and Jim said, "They'll understand. They love you." That seemed to galvanize Blair and he turned back to his mom. 

"It was Charles," he said quietly. 

"I don't understand. What did Charles have to do with this?" she replied. 

"He hired two thugs and between the three of them they almost killed your son, Naomi," Eric stated. 

"No! He wouldn't do that. He loves Blair. He's always asking about him, trying to get me to contact him, to see him." She shook her head, and Blair looked crushed. Blair's grandfather had sagged into a chair and was holding his head in his hands. 

Silence reigned for a few long moments, before Blair looked pleadingly at Jim. "Jim?" he asked quietly, sounding lost. 

"It's all right, Blair. Give them some time." 

"I shouldn't have come here," Blair said. "I shouldn't have listened to you, Jim. I should have stayed where I was and let them get on with their lives. They were happy, Jim," he spat out. Jim would have been hurt, but he knew Blair didn't mean to hurt him. 

"They weren't happy, Blair. They've been as miserable as you." 

"I have to go." Blair was interrupted when Naomi jumped to her feet and ran for the stairs. 

"Naomi! Where are you going?" Eric boomed. But she wasn't listening. She was racing up the steps, yelling for her husband. 

"Charles! Charles!" 

Everyone followed, and when the caught up with her, she was on the terrace yelling at him. "Why did you do this, Charles? Why?! He's my son. He loved you and your boys. And you tried to kill him! I hate you!" she screamed, pummeling his chest and face with her fists. Charles was too busy fighting her off to notice the others' arrival. 

"Naomi! What is the matter with you?" 

"My beautiful baby! He's a saint, and you terrorized him. You made me believe you loved him! That you were as innocent as we were!" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, woman," he growled, managing to finally capture the hands that were beating him. 

"She's talking about me." Blair's voice rang out strong and clear. Charles paled, and Jim tensed, ready to protect Blair from this monster. 

"Blair, it's good to see you! It's been a long time. I've missed you." Charles' voice was sweet and innocent, but Jim knew better. His protective instincts rushed to the forefront and he stepped in closer to Blair, laying a hand on his shoulder. The look on Charles' face changed to contempt. "So I see you haven't heeded my warning," he sneered. "Didn't I tell you what would happen if you ever came back here?" 

"They know the truth, Charles. They know what you did. It doesn't matter what they think of me anymore. Your threats can't hurt me now." 

"They don't love you. They can't. No one can love something so sick and twisted. You pushed your ways on my son. Always touching him, whispering to him. All those times he wouldn't respond to me. All those times he was lost in a daze, they were your doing. You put some kind of spell on him. You brainwashed him into listening to no one else so you could be his hero. He wanted to be so much like you that he was willing to be a filthy faggot to please you!" 

Blair flinched at the words, but didn't back down. "What Jeff had, his senses were a gift. He would have been a great man with their help. All I did was make life easier for him. I never touched him or tried to change him." 

"You're lying! You deserved to die. I should have killed you then!" He lunged at Blair, but Jim was ready. He stepped in front of Blair just as Charles' foot caught on the patio table leg. He stumbled into the railing, but it wasn't strong enough to hold. The old iron gave way and Charles fell with it. Jim also lunged, trying to catch the man's arm before he fell three stories. He wasn't fast enough, and Blair's stepfather, the man he'd grown to love as a teenager, fell to his death. Naomi screamed while Eric and Blair tried to keep Jim from sliding off the edge. Time seemed to stop as the two men struggled to pull him up. When he was safe again, he gathered Blair close and held on tight. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered again and again. "I tried to catch him." 

"I know, Jim. It's not your fault." 

"I'm going to call the police," Eric said, gathering Naomi to him. "Let's go, Naomi. I'll fix you some brandy." They disappeared inside without another word. Blair didn't say anything, but JIm felt him sag with defeat. 

"Don't believe what he said, Blair. They do love you. I've talked to the man; I've heard the pain in his voice when he spoke of you. Give him time, he'll come around," Jim told him. "And your mom will always love you. She knew about you and loved you anyway; she'll find her way through this." 

"It doesn't matter, Jim. Not anymore. I've done enough damage here. I won't bother them again." 

Jim hated the defeat he heard in Blair's voice, but there wasn't much he could say. 

Epilogue 

A week had passed since Charles' funeral. Blair hadn't heard from his family, but he hadn't expected to. Jim knew he hated that he'd caused them so much pain, but Jim worried that Blair believed Charles' lies: that his family hadn't loved him enough. Because of that, he seemed to hold tighter to Jim. Jim wasn't complaining. 

They were sitting on the couch, Blair leaning against him and soaking up the sunshine as they read. Blair jumped when a knock sounded on the door. Jim tilted his head slightly to listen and frowned. 

"What is it?" Blair asked worriedly. 

"Eric and Naomi are here," he said tightly. 

Blair ran to the door. He managed to wait until they knocked before he flung it open. His face showed only politeness, but Jim could hear Blair's heart racing. He wanted them to say good things, to renew Blair's faith in his family, but he remained silent, waiting. Blair invited them in and they stood huddled in the entryway staring at one another. 

Jim got to his feet and tried to ease the tension. "Mr. Braedon, Mrs. Braedon, please come in." He smiled inwardly with satisfaction when Blair's mother winced at the reference to her husband. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Coffee?" 

"Coffee would be fine, Mr. Ellison," Naomi smiled. Mr. Braedon also accepted the offer and Jim left them with Blair. He shamelessly listened as he made the coffee. 

"Naomi, Grand, what brings you here?" Blair asked politely. "Is something wrong?" 

"As a matter of fact, there is, son," Mr. Braedon replied. "I need to say that I'm sorry. We--" He gestured to himself and Naomi. "--we came to ask your forgiveness. This has been hard on everyone, especially you. I know that. But we've selfishly taken time to deal with what my son did, without including you. You suffered greatly at my son's hands and deserved to have your family's support. We left you alone when we should have gathered you up with us." 

"Blair, we'd like you to come home," Naomi said. "It's your home, too, and you should be there, regardless of what happened." 

"I can't do that, Mom. I can't be there, knowing I'm not wanted." 

"But you are wanted. And loved, sweetie. We only needed time to process. We love you no matter what. Please, come home," Naomi entreated. 

"What about you, Grand? Can you live with what I've done?" Blair asked quietly. 

"Blair, my dear boy, you haven't done anything. You were a victim. That's all. I loved my son. I always will, but I'm terribly sad that he was so filled with hate that he would resort to such violence. He was still my son--just like you are still my grandson. You always will be," the old man said, taking Blair's hands in his. "Please come home." 

In the kitchen, Jim put the coffee mugs down and gripped the counter tightly as he waited. This was it. Blair had his family, his life back. He was free from his prison and could go on with the life he was meant to have. Jim would be strong for him because he had no other choice. 

Gathering up the cups, he filled them and put them on the tray. He walked into the living room with his best smile pasted on his face. Blair looked up as he entered and cleared a place on the coffee table for the tray. When everyone had fixed their coffee to their liking, Blair addressed his mother and grandfather. 

"I can't come home with you," he said. Eric and Naomi looked panicked. Jim was shocked and confused. "I can't move home. My life is here now. I need to let it grow, and I need to stay with Jim. But, I can come home. Anytime, anyway. You name it, I'm there," He grinned. "I won't stay away anymore." Blair was gathered into a group hug, and they laughed and cried. Jim sat down, stunned, as Blair's words sank in. He wasn't losing Blair. Blair had his life and family back. And Jim had a new life entirely. Everything was going to be just fine now. 

The End 

* * *

End 

Blue Moon by OCONN: j804gdt@verizon.net  
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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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